Seeking The Truth - A Medieval Romance (The Sword of Glastonbury Series Book 11)

by Shea,Lisa

  “You have been doing this for some time then, I take it,” he commented, his breath coming in long draws.

  Morgan smiled innocently, deftly undoing the guard on her left arm with her right hand, bending over deeply to put the guard on the bench, letting her cleavage drop before him. “I am well experienced,” she agreed with a grin. She held her position as she worked on the other guard, loosening it, twisting her body with gentle undulations as she eased the guard off her arm. By the time she stood up, the four leather pieces stacked in her hands, his eyes were hot with desire, his body tense.

  She ran her eyes down his form, then took a step toward him, dropping her voice down into a lower tone. She gave a quiet nod to Sean.

  “I am so sorry, but I need to go now,” she apologized throatily. “I think a bath would do me some good; do you imagine so?”

  His eyes went smoky with heated passion, and a rush of power filled her. He did not respond, only stared at her with growing heat.

  She turned, smiling, taking care to stroll back to the keep at a slow, hip-weaving pace.

  She flagged down a servant on her way through the main hall, asking for a bath to be brought to her room. In short order the half barrel full of steaming water was sitting in a corner of her bedchambers. She sprinkled in a handful of rose petals from a pottery jar on her dresser, then stripped down and stepped into the deliciously warm bath.

  It was heaven after a week’s worth of muck and dirt to feel her muscles relax, feel the scrapes and bruises get clean and softened. She washed her hair, her body, taking her time. Only when the water began to cool did she emerge to towel herself off.

  She dressed with extra care for the evening, choosing one of her dark crimson dresses with intricate embroidery along the plunging neckline. She cascaded her hair into a braid along her brow, bringing it to the back to sweep her remaining curls into a spiraling fall. She added a few full-bloom roses from the vase on her dresser into the crown for effect, and stood back to admire the results in the mirror. She did clean up well, if she said so herself.

  She stepped out of her room and glanced down the hallway as, two doors down, a man stepped out of one of the guest rooms. His eyes opened wide as he saw her, and it was a long moment before he recovered, pulling the door shut behind him. Sean covered the distance between them in a few long strides. He wore a black tunic with silver embroidery, his eyes focused on her with thick passion.

  “You look … outstanding,” he offered in a low voice, taking her hand, bringing his head down to press his lips for a long kiss. The feathery touch against her skin was an electric charge, and her breath caught. In a moment he released her hand and offered his arm, which she took with a deep smile. He escorted her down the hall to the stairs, then they slowly took the stairs together down toward dinner.

  Many heads turned, and there were a few whistles as the two made their way through the full, torch-lit room toward the head table. Morgan saw a flare of anger in both Christian’s and Oliver’s eyes, and smiled to herself. They could certainly be quite protective at times. She looked over with interest at the two newcomers to the main table, both in the green uniforms Sean had worn the first day.

  Roger ran his hand through his close-cut brown hair. “God’s blood, Sean, no wonder you wanted to stay a few weeks.”

  Morgan winked. “Just remember not to bet against me the next time.”

  “No, I would guess not!” called out the soldier with a laugh.

  Sean nodded to his friend. “Roger, meet Morgan.” Morgan slid her arm from Sean’s grasp, stepping forward to offer Roger her hand. He was grinning when he raised his head from her fingers.

  “I am Peter,” introduced the second man. He seemed to be in his forties, with a heavier build than the other two, his brown hair beginning to grey. “I am the elder of our little group,” he added, his eyes twinkling.

  “That simply means you are the most experienced,” soothed Morgan with a grin, moving to offer her hand to him as well.

  Lady Donna laughed. “Come on, then, find a place.” Morgan found herself sitting between Sean and Roger, and soon the table was passing around the platters of roast chicken and stewed carrot while servants poured out the ale.

  Christian took a long drink of his ale. “So, Sean,” he queried with a mischievous smile, “I hear you grew up in Buck’s Green? Good pig country, that.”

  He gave a soft oof as Morgan’s boot connected solidly with his shin. “Well, that is what I heard,” he added with a wry wink.

  Sean’s gaze was even. “Yes, it is a quiet farming community,” he agreed, taking a bite of chicken. “I learned the value of tending to that which was important to me.” He reached forward easily, taking a hold of the pottery ale pitcher, refilling Morgan’s glass, then his own.

  Morgan toasted him with a grin, taking down a long pull. Sean was out to cause trouble, and by the flash of jealousy in Christian’s eyes, he had found it.

  Oliver’s mouth quirked slightly, watching the interchange with focused attention. “We have actually met before,” he commented neutrally to Sean, “although I imagine you do not remember. It was at your parents’ funeral, eight years ago. I accompanied Lady Donna; Morgan was not yet with us at the time.”

  Sean’s eyes shaded slightly. “Yes, of course, I do remember,” he murmured. “You were very attentive of Lady Donna, and I appreciated that greatly.” His eyes glanced up to hold his aunt’s. “I know it was hard on you, losing your only sibling.”

  “No less hard than for you, to lose both parents in one blow,” consoled Lady Donna, putting her hand out to pat his across the table. “I had not seen Adela in many years, not since she ran off with your father. I have always regretted that separation.”

  “My mother spoke of you fondly,” responded Sean, his voice gentle. “It was only her pride which kept her apart.”

  “Hers and mine.” Lady Donna took a long pull of her ale. She gave herself a small shake and smiled fondly at her nephew. “Well, we will remedy the rift. When I pass away, all of this will go to you, and the families will be rejoined.”

  “That only assumes you die without an heir,” toasted Sean with a twinkle in his eye.

  Lady Donna laughed out loud, her eyes brimming with delight. “Oh, you are too much,” she chortled, wiping at her face. “At my age? I am afraid that is long past.”

  “Still,” Sean prodded, nodding fondly at his aunt, “there is no reason for you to live alone.”

  Morgan leant forward. “I tell her that all the time,” she agreed, turning to the older woman. “Get yourself a man! Have some fun!”

  Lady Donna shook her head in amusement. “You enjoy the spoils of youth while you have them,” she advised Morgan with a wry look. “You will find that things are not so easy when the years begin to add up.”

  “I do enjoy the spoils,” responded Morgan with a wicked grin. “I have no intention of that slowing as I become even better at what I do.”

  “That is my girl,” praised Lady Donna, toasting her with her mug. She turned to Sean. “You see? I am surrounded by friends, and ensconced in everything I could desire. I want for nothing here, and am living out my life as I choose.”

  “One could ask for no more,” congratulated Sean, returning the toast.

  Roger absently ran a hand through his brown hair. “Still,” he added in quietly, “There is something to be said for having a commitment, having a life-long partner you have sworn yourself to.”

  Morgan snorted, practically choking on her drink. Sean gave her a solid thwack on her back, and after a moment she managed to catch her breath. She looked over at Roger with a wide smile. “Do tell,” she asked him with bright interest. “Just what is the advantage?”

  “Someone to care for you,” he offered in a low voice, thinking as he turned his ale in his hands. “Someone to share a meal with, someone to soothe you when you are down.”

  “Someone to scream at you when you do not salt the pork properly,” retorted Morgan with a sm
ile. “Someone to nag you, for the fiftieth time, of how important it is for you to keep your baskets out of the forge area. Someone to remind you of every time you refused to acquiesce to his lust over the past thirty years.”

  Christian’s voice came in a slurring laugh. “Now you are talking of your parents,” he challenged heartily.

  “That I am,” agreed Morgan easily. “What better reason to stay unmarried and free? I have seen first-hand the damage it causes.”

  Roger’s shoulders slumped. “Still, to die alone, without anyone by your side,” he muttered, his eyes shadowing.

  There was a touch on Morgan’s arm, and she looked up at Sean. The seriousness of his gaze threw her off balance. It suddenly hit her that the trio of soldiers were in town for the funeral of a friend. Apparently she had stumbled on something near to Roger’s heart.

  She nodded to Sean, then turned, sliding her arm around Roger to give him a tender hug.

  “Your friend was loved,” she reminded Roger softly, leaning her head against his. “He knew he had you ready to assist him any time he asked. He could rely on you. Many people would dream of having friends such as you.”

  Roger looked up, gazing into her eyes, his face showing relief. “You are right,” he agreed, the darkness fading from his eyes. “We were the best of friends. He did have that.”

  Morgan raised her mug in a toast, and the table responded at once. “To friendship,” she offered with a smile, and the words echoed around her in response. Her eyes swept the table, and as they came around to Sean she saw the thankful look held deep within his gaze. She clinked her mug against his, and then closed her eyes, draining the ale.

  There was a movement across from her, and Christian was pushing himself up from the table, walking around to stand at her shoulder. “It is a gorgeous night out, Morgan,” he called down in bright enthusiasm. “Come walking with me.”

  Sean’s arm, where it laid against hers, rippled with tension. She smiled in delight. “Of course, Christian, it would be my pleasure,” she purred. She turned as she stood, trailing her arm against Sean’s side, relishing the answering pressure as she stepped past him over the bench. Christian immediately took up her hand, and she nodded a farewell at the table.

  “See you in the morning,” she offered, her eyes sweeping to look down into Sean’s.

  “I look forward to it,” he agreed in a low voice, his eyes following her. Christian pulled her into motion, but it took her several steps before she broke the gaze, turned and joined Christian in heading out toward the back gardens.

  Chapter 3

  Sunday morning dawned with streaming sunshine, and Morgan stretched with toe-tingling pleasure before getting up to dress. She wriggled into one of her tamer dresses, a snug fitting garment of soft, doe brown. The outfit sported delicate tracery of white vines along the cuffs, hugging her curves with sensual closeness. She brushed her hair out into long, soft waves of ebony, then topped it with a white head cloth and bronze circlet.

  When she pushed open her door, she chuckled to find Sean leaning against the wall, waiting for her. His eyes slowly traced her from head to toe, coming back up to meet at her eyes. He pressed himself away from the wall, taking slow steps to come up before her.

  “Every day I think I understand you, and every day you surprise me,” he murmured appreciatively, taking her hand in his. The movement of his lips against her skin was as delicate as a butterfly’s wings, and a soft sensation coursed through her.

  Today he was wearing a tunic of deep grey; the fabric reflected the swirling grey of his eyes. Morgan found herself reaching for his arm almost before he offered it, and a smile traced its way along his lips as he glanced sideways at her, walking her along toward the stairs.

  Four sets of eyes followed them as they came down the flight. Christian bounded over immediately, staring at Sean with open challenge in his eyes. “Allow me to escort you to the chapel this morning, Morgan,” he offered tersely, his eyes not leaving Sean’s.

  “Why, of course, if you wish,” agreed Morgan with a growing smile, nodding her farewell to Sean. She slipped her arm from Sean’s and moved over to stand besides Christian. The red-head laced his fingers into hers, grinning widely, and Oliver moved in behind them as escort, separating the pair from Sean.

  Roger’s eyes twinkled. “Causing trouble, Sean?” he asked with a smile as he and Peter fell in with their friend.

  Sean chuckled softly, but his gaze followed Morgan’s form as she walked ahead with the two men.

  Lady Donna came down the stairs, laughing brightly as she saw the direction the three soldiers were looking. “Might I offer myself as a consolation prize?” she greeted Sean.

  “You are my favorite lady,” promised Sean, turning and holding out his hand. “It would be my honor to escort you.”

  *

  Morgan stood as the mass ended, looping one arm through Christian’s, the other, Oliver’s as they made their way out into the bright sunshine. They moved with easy familiarity around the side of the keep. The traditional picnic - a series of blankets holding breads, cheeses, strawberries, raspberries, and far more - was laid out for them in the garden. Letitia, her brown hair done back into a quiet braid, smiled at them hesitantly as she brought over mugs of ale, helped them settle into their pillows.

  The drone of bees moved amongst the fragrant lavender as Morgan took her first long sip. She leaned back in casual comfort against Oliver, opening her mouth, waiting patiently as he deposited a ripe strawberry into it. She grinned, savoring the luscious flavor. The sun shone down on her, and she felt as if her body was aglow.

  Peter shook his head. “I think we have taken up the wrong profession,” he commented to Sean with a smile, settling down across from Morgan. “Your aunt seems to have everything you could need here.”

  Morgan grinned. “It is not too late to repent of your evil ways,” she intoned merrily. She gave Oliver a prodding nudge with her elbow, sighing as he brought one hand up to press gently against her shoulder in a soft massage. “Give up your life of combat and warfare, and come join us in the embraces of pleasure.”

  Sean gave a low laugh, helping Lady Donna to sit before lowering himself at Peter’s side. “This comes from a woman who wields a sword with a steady hand,” he commented wryly.

  Morgan smiled broadly. “I hardly said I was defenseless,” she countered with a grin, giving a long stretch in the bright sunshine. “Merely that I do not spend every hour running around seeking death.”

  “You were quick enough to draw when you first saw me in the keep,” pointed out Sean with a chuckle, taking a long pull on his ale.

  “You threatened Lady Donna,” responded Morgan more seriously, sitting up to face him. “I would defend her with my life.”

  “I believe you would,” agreed Sean, his eyes acknowledging her, “and for that I thank you.” He glanced at his friends by his side. “In the same manner, we defend the king, and England’s safety.”

  “Fair enough,” conceded Morgan with a nod. She smiled as Oliver brought her another strawberry. “Still, I must admit that I enjoy life here, and would not seek any other.” She closed her eyes as Oliver lowered the luscious object into her mouth, taking it in with a contented sigh.

  “Maybe there are even greater pleasures which you have not yet found,” murmured Sean in a low voice.

  The summer sun drew through her body, the flavors of the mead and fresh food tantalizing her senses. “Oh, I doubt that.”

  “Well, then,” commented Sean mildly. “If you are afraid of new things -”

  Morgan’s eyes shot open at the challenge. “Never!”

  “Well then, come sit next to me for a moment,” suggested Sean, his voice deceptively calm.

  Morgan found herself hesitating, then scoffed, scolding herself. She had not backed down from any contest since she was able to walk. During her life she had always launched herself headlong into any test of skills, any game of chance.

  She drew herself out of O
liver’s embrace, grinning as she felt his stiffness, his slight but clear resistance as she withdrew her body from beneath his hands. She stood, walking over to sit beside Sean with her head held high.

  “Bring on your worst,” she taunted, steeling herself.

  “Fold yourself at the waist; lay down to touch your toes,” he instructed with casual ease.

  Morgan chuckled. If he thought this was a challenge for her, he would be greatly mistaken. She took great care in her flexibility, it was one of her few advantages in swordplay. She obediently reached out toward her toes, laying herself down along her long legs, relaxing flat against their length. She felt the long stretch in her back, along her spine.

  A pair of fingers pressed in hard at her lower back and she almost groaned in agony, at the exquisite pain they brought. Was it pain? It was intense, more powerful than anything she had felt before. It encompassed all of her senses, took over every part of her, flooded her being. It was not pain; it was an alert, a craving, a deep desire.

  His fingers moved with heavy pressure along her spine, and she was barely able to breathe. She was not aware of anything else around her, not cognizant of any sensation other than his rolling motion, cascading along her body, drawing that powerful feeling along with it. She wanted to feel him on every part of her, wanted him to press down against her, wanted his hands to come around her, to hold her, to turn her, to claim her …

  She bristled, suddenly flaring into awareness, realizing how helpless she had become under his touch. She sat up abruptly, shaking his hands off of her. She brushed her hair back with her fingers, giving herself a moment to recover, to gain her senses.

  “Yes, well, Oliver is a trained doctor. I rely on his massages for my health,” she bit out hoarsely, turning her gaze from his.

  “I am sure he does a wonderful job,” came his low, rumbling reply, and she felt the echo of it deep within her, felt the draw to turn. He was so close to her, she could feel the heat emanating from his body.